


the only heaven i'll be sent to is when i'm alone with you

by clownc0re



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018), She-Ra: Princess Of Power (1985)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, aka adora and catra are cool dragon riders and things are dying, hitman catra, i was supposed to kill you trope, might be sexual content idk yet, they were college roommates, theyre GAY and DUMB
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28925529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clownc0re/pseuds/clownc0re
Summary: "There's Adora. As in, the Adora she was meant to kill, Adora.And she's making eye contact with her.And suddenly Catra wishes she hadn't attended this meeting at all."In other words, after being assigned to kill Adora, Catra can't seem to do it. So now they're stuck saving dragons together.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	1. arsonist's lullabye

# arsonist's lullabye

********

###  CATRA 

********

The night is annoyingly cold.

****

Maybe it’s the frigid wind from the sea. She can taste the salt on her tongue even through her mask, and every few seconds her ears twitch at the sound of its waves rolling onto the beach. It’s distant. Far enough that it’s hidden by fog and crooked trees. But that doesn’t stop Catra from picturing it in all of its gross, overrated glory. She hates water. She hates the bright lights above her. And she hates the town of Brightmoon. 

She’s always been freaked out by how luminant it is, even in the middle of the night when everyone sleeps in warm, overly comfortable beds to the sound of the earth breathing ever-so-softly. She’s been here twice before, only one of those times for another job. The other was out of pure curiosity and the feverish need for a new saddle. She’d left the second she got it. It was too bright. Too loud. 

Even in the silence of the night, Brightmoon exists louder than her heartbeat. 

She moves as if she’s nothing more than an unclaimed shadow, weaving through alleyways and curls of tree branches as if she’ll be arrested simply for walking the town. She won’t be. She knows that. But she’s still careful, because one slip-up and she’d be ruined. 

Shadow Weaver had told her nothing but the usual. The hit’s address, a blunt physical description, and a number. This woman in particular is 24A. Catra has no idea what Shadow Weaver’s numerical system is, but she doesn’t care to find out. Maybe it’s fear, or maybe it’s the comfort of the unknown. No matter what it is, Catra finds solace in as little information as possible. It means there are no feelings attached. No humanity. Just a hunk of meat that happens to have a brain, and the sickening sound of her blade plunging into their chests. It’s not fun, and rarely ever is it even remotely enjoyable. But she has to do it. 

_They deserve it, Catra _. Shadow Weaver would say.__

____

____

_They deserve to die._

She’s only killed a handful of people, of course. It’d be unfair for her to be the only one pulling her weight. There’s an entire team running at the Fright Zone. Beneath the fiery heat of dragon breath and the rampant flap of wings are bloodstained fingerprints and ghosts of those that had fallen beneath Hordak’s will. Somehow, they’d made their way into the dorm halls and break rooms, and even the dragon caves. And somehow, Catra always got to boast that she never saw any of them. 

Bliss. Ignorant bliss. 

Avoidance. 

_Weakness _.__

____

____

Shadow Weaver’s voice chokes out her own, wrapping its clawed hands around her throat and squeezing until it feels like all hope is lost. She clenches her jaw and chews at her cheek. Suddenly her mask feels tight. Suddenly her uniform feels off. Suddenly she feels. 

Shadow Weaver usually told her _why _she was killing her target.__

____

__

There was no _why _this time.__

____

____

She’s been thinking about it for days. During her breakfast, during her prep work, during her training, during her flights with Melog--why hadn’t Shadow Weaver disclosed the _why _? She never did that. She’d even asked around--Scorpia, Kyle, Lonnie, Rogelio, hell even some of the rookies who’d just had their first taste of blood--and none of them had ever experienced the same thing. They always got a _why.___

_____ _

_____ _

Catra isn’t one to be easily stressed. (Yes she is.) But this is so different. This is her job. And Shadow Weaver is Shadow Weaver. She’s direct. She’s blunt. She’s truthful. (No she isn’t.) So why the fuck is she hiding the _why?_

____

____

Catra stops in the darkness of an alleyway, and regretfully, she leans against a brick wall. With shallow, slow exhales, she removes her mask and allows herself to fully breathe. She can feel the sturdiness of her knife against her thigh. The curve of its blade. The faux gold of its handle. 

It’s almost like a welcome reality check. Almost. 

___She spends too long in that alleyway. But yet, time seems to move so slow._ _ _

When she leaves, she puts her mask back on. 

The walk to 24A’s home is dreadful. With every step, Catra becomes more aware of her surroundings. The way the lights that hover above her glow soft yellow instead of harsh white. The way the plants in this town seem to caress buildings rather than infiltrate and destroy them. The way the houses are painted kind and warm rather than dark and dreary. There are bakeries, daycares, schools, family homes. It all makes her stomach squirm. It all makes her sick. 

_98 Palace Rd _looks exactly how Shadow Weaver had said it would. A quaint cottage at the edge of Brightmoon’s coast, atop a cliff that overlooks the sea to its right, and the woods to its left. It’s annoyingly homey and annoyingly full of life. _Annoying _. The word seems to stick to her tongue. Everything is annoying tonight.____

___ _

_____ _

____

She decides not to spend too much time looking at the cottage’s outside, but she does take note of some things. She can’t help it. She runs a gloved hand over the stupidly cheesy handprints painted on the mailbox, squints her eyes at the magically floating orbs outside the front door, frowns at the blooming garden in the cottage’s backyard, and eyes the oddly misplaced workout equipment that sits...outside? She stares at it for more than a few seconds. _What if it rains? _The question is stupid, at least to Catra, so it goes unacknowledged.__

__

____

____

She enters the front door almost too easily. The lock is easy to pick, a simple and outdated model. She can’t help but grin under her mask as it clicks into place and the door opens into a home. But the grin fades when she gets practically smacked in the face by the smell of the inside. It smells like vanilla and bread and ash. And it claws at Catra’s throat. For whatever godforsaken reason, she can’t figure out why. With a small shudder, she steps inside and closes the door as quietly as possible. 

She makes no noise as she walks across the home and up the stairs. She says nothing as she passes open doors. She doesn’t even remember if she’s breathing as she finally reaches her destination. Her hand lingers over her thigh again, as if it would even be possible that she didn’t hear the sound of a knife clattering to the wooden floor. Her fingers find their home against the divots of its metal. And so she walks in.

The room is a mess. The first thing she notices is the sprawled stacks of papers that lay across a messy desk. They’re chaotically placed and crumpled as if someone were writing numerous drafts and just couldn’t find the right words. There are piles of clothes strewn at random places on the floor, and the posters on the walls are barely readable in the darkness of evening, but she can see the way their edges are falling from where they’ve been taped. She nearly stumbles over a few weights that were left haphazardly on the floor. _Maybe I’m killing her for being a slob, _Catra thinks.__

__

____

____

She steps carefully towards the figure on the bed. The woman sleeps peacefully, with no covers and her back to the mattress. It’s abnormal and looks so, so uncomfortable. Catra adds it to her list of _whys. _It just keeps racking up. If it weren’t for the dire situation, she would laugh. Unfortunately, she can’t make a sound.__

__

____

____

She figures this is the right woman. In the dark, it’s difficult to see any defining features, and even more difficult to tell if this is the target out of the three that actually live in the cottage. But Shadow Weaver was specific on the location, and Catra is careful and tedious in her work. So she spends a few minutes studying her features in the dark, cautiously running her fingers over her arms to feel if there is, in fact, a lot of muscle there like Shadow Weaver had said. And there is. Shadow Weaver had said it as a warning, but Catra would eat it up if it were any other day. 

The woman groans in her sleep and moves a little, startling Catra a few feet away from the bed. She nearly topples over a bookshelf. As she falls back into silence, Catra’s chest begins to tighten. Time is ticking. Sunrise is coming. She can’t afford to wait any longer. The stomach-churning smell of vanilla is back to haunt her, but this time, it’s mixed with the dull imprint of cologne. Familiar cologne. Catra pauses, and she can’t put together the pieces. Why the smell makes her throat tighten and her stomach twist, she has no idea. She’s so, so confused by it. She’s never been this confused on a job, not to mention a target. The lack of _why _still haunts her, even with her own mental list of them.__

__

____

____

Yet only when she braces herself above the sleeping woman, knees against her sides and knife lingering above her chest, does Catra recognize it all. 

It happens so fast that she can barely process it. The blonde hair that somehow curls into the faint outline of a hair poof even in her sleep. The soft lips that Catra often found herself staring at. The angled pale jaw that tensed every time she was stressed. And she was stressed so often. Catra keeps her knife poised at the woman’s chest, but she can’t do it. _She can’t do it. _She can’t draw blood. She can’t kill her. She can’t kill--__

____

____

“Adora?” 

She has no control of her tongue. The words slip out past all defenses, shocked and in a squeak. She shuts her mouth quickly, and the second Adora begins to stir, Catra leaps from the bed.  


Suddenly the lack of _why _makes sense.__

____

____

For a moment, she tries to rationalize it. She’s seeing things. She’s delusional. She’s sick. This isn’t Adora. It can’t be Adora. Adora wouldn’t live in a seaside cottage. Adora wouldn’t have a messy room. Adora wouldn’t be targeted by Shadow Weaver. Adora wouldn’t. 

But Adora would. And Adora is sitting up. And Adora is-- 

“Hello? Who’s there?” 

Her voice is too familiar. Painfully familiar. It’s broken by sleep yet still so commanding. It hurts. This hurts. She has to go. 

She can’t do it. 

Adora spots Catra almost immediately. She can only pray the darkness is doing as much to hide her as it did to hide Adora. She can’t think straight. She feels like she can’t breathe. Suddenly the smell is sinking into her skin and she can’t spend one more minute in this goddamn room. So Catra does something stupid. 

She jumps. 

The window was already (conveniently) open. When Catra sees an opportunity, she takes it. That’s how she’s always been. A free muffin. A cool haircut. A scholarship for college. A job in the Fright Zone. A chance to have her very own dragon. Every opportunity she’s been given, she’s taken it. And this time, it’s no different. So Catra jumps, and she lands painfully. 

She’s lucky. When she falls, she lands the way she’s been taught, but even with her reflexes and (scarily inhuman) agility, her legs still scream with pain and she has to grit her teeth. She can hear Adora calling after her. She can hear the sound of the ocean getting louder with every limping jog. She can hear the distant clap of thunder and light rain on the sea’s surface. She can hear the mixed calls of Adora’s friends. But she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t rest. She keeps running until her legs give out in the forest and she feels as if she’ll die. 

Catra collapses against the base of a tree, lodged into its large and overlapping crevices that wrap around her body like a human embrace. Her legs hurt so bad that she’s scared she ruined them forever. Her chest hurts. Her head hurts. Her eyes hurt. It’s so dark. 

But now it smells like wood and clean, untouched air. Like the beginning of a thunderstorm and the sweet aroma of dirt. Her back is rigid against the bark and she’s sure that mud is getting all over her clothes, but _god, _she’s free of her. Free of Adora.__

____

____

_Adora._

____

____

Somehow, the name hurts worse than her legs. 

Confusion is beginning to take over. And then anger. And sadness. And every negative emotion she’s ever felt in her life. Memories she tried so hard to block out are bubbling to the surface, and she wants so badly for the oncoming rain to become so heavy that she drowns in it. This is Shadow Weaver’s fault. This is the reason she didn’t give her a _why._

____

____

“Fuck!” The words come out cracked and broken, dull beneath the sound of rain. If it weren’t for the fatigue, she’d probably punch the tree or the ground or even herself. 

Thunder claps. Lightning strikes. Catra thinks. 

She hates Adora. She hates Shadow Weaver. She hates the cottage. She hates the smell of vanilla and she loathes the smell of her cologne. She hates the woods. She hates the rain. She hates everything. Her surroundings feel so wrong. Everything feels wrong. 

Catra tries to breathe. Every bone in her body is screaming for her to cry, but she can’t. Just like everything else tonight, she just can’t. She knows this will bite her one day in the future--she’s known for her outbursts, how she holds everything in until the last second. But she doesn’t care about most things right now. She doesn’t even care about her legs. 

She does care about the fact that Shadow Weaver was sadistic enough to assign her to this job. 

Shadow Weaver is anything but a good person, and Catra knows that. She despises Shadow Weaver more than she thought humanly possible. But why she assigned Catra to kill Adora instead of one of the many eager hires at the fright zone, Catra has no idea. It would have made more sense for her to send Rogelio or Lonnie or Scorpia-- 

No it wouldn’t, Scorpia couldn’t hurt a fly. 

But _anybody _other than her could.__

____

__

So why Catra? 

She decides that tonight is full of too many _whys._

____

____

Maybe it’s another manipulation tactic. A show of power, even. It wouldn’t shock Catra for Shadow Weaver to do that. She’s surely done it before. Or maybe it’s a test. A test that she failed. A failure she’ll be punished for. Unless she lies, of course. Catra doesn’t mind lying. But she minds Adora. She hates Adora. It should be easy to kill her, and not only that, but she _wants _to hear her scream. Catra wants to hear Adora beg for her life.__

____

____

She wants to hear her name on her lips in more ways than one. 

Catra leaves the woods only when she deems it safe. The storm has been going on for over an hour, and no blonde girls have come running through the woods, so she assumes she can leave undetected. She holds back a cry as she stands. Her legs burn so awfully that she feels as if they’re trapped in a fire. Once she’s back to the Fright Zone, she’ll be healed, but every step is torture. 

The rain is slicking her hair to her face and the back of her neck. It hangs heavy against her temples and her shoulder blades, and she wishes in that moment that she could cut it all off. Mud tries to pull her boots deeper into the dirt and the limbs of trees and bushes smack her sides as she walks. Some hit her face. She won’t be taking another trip into the woods for a long, long time. 

Catra knows she got herself into this mess. She should have killed her, should have at least hurt her or detained her. And then she’d take the front door and get the hell out of there, running down the stone paths and out of Brightmoon. She’d fly back to the Fright Zone and be praised for a job well done. Maybe even promoted. But no. Instead she’s trudging through a storm on injured legs in the dark, her relief at least a mile away. 

It takes her another hour to get to the cave. If not for her injury, it would have taken a lot less time, but it’s all a blur right now so Catra doesn’t even care. The mouth of the cave is a relief in itself, and a shelter from the rain. She limps as fast as she can into its dry shadow. The sound of water dripping from her clothes echoes down the chamber, a haunting melody.  
Warmth begins to envelop her skin, and for the first time tonight, Catra _really _smiles.__

____

____

“Hey, Melog.” 

The dragon slowly reveals himself, filling a gigantic, open space with dark purple scales. The frill of his neck glows the same blue as his eyes and wings, and suddenly Catra feels much, much safer. He grins with sharp teeth and gives a low, purr-like rumble. The crystal-like formations on his tail hit against the wall as it slowly moves back and forth. 

His scales are warm beneath Catra’s palm. She pets his nose gently, and with little warning, she wraps her arms around his large neck and stays there in an awkward hug. Melog doesn’t mind. She feels so much better with him there. She always has, even if she hadn’t got along with him at first. She smiles at the memory. Those were much simpler times, and they were so much smaller. 

After a while, Catra lets him go and gives him the signal to get up. With great difficulty, she manages to (somehow) get his saddle on. It’s tedious and even harder than normal with her legs. Melog notices her occasional grunts of pain, but Catra doesn’t want to stress him out and does nothing to indicate it further. She needs him to get them back safe, and he’s too emotionally aware for her to act panicked, because then he will too. It’s happened before and she refuses to let it happen ever again. 

She climbs on in another struggle, and the second she’s strapped into the saddle, she seems to collapse in the safety of it all. With weary hands, Catra taps the signal for go, and Melog does. It’s something she’s still not used to even after over twenty years of working with dragons. If she could function properly, she’d be whooping and feeling the air against her face and smiling so big she would feel her cheeks aching. But this time, she can only feel the rapid beating of her heart against her aching chest. She can’t even speak. 

But Melog knows where to go. He always does. 

The Fright Zone is basically hell on earth.

The smell of burnt land wakes Catra from her dazed state immediately, and after her rest, she has enough strength to at least sit up. She doesn’t know how long they’ve been flying, but the rising sun indicates that it’s been a while. A lot longer than it should have been. 

“Sorry, Melog,” Catra says. 

He only grunts back in return. 

When they land, the colorful backdrop of morning sky is replaced by dull greens, blacks, grays and the occasional red. It’s so much darker than Brightmoon and a lot less welcoming, but it’s home. It has to be home. Catra slides off of Melog’s back, and her landing is just as painful as the one from the window, except there are no berry bushes to break her fall this time. She grits her teeth and clenches her jaw so that she doesn’t make a sound. But Melog knows something is up. He nestles the tip of his gigantic nose under the crook of her arm as an attempt at support.  


Still, every step is torture. 

Getting Melog set up in his enclosure is torture. Walking back to the main building is torture. Saying hi to everybody headed to breakfast is torture. The walk by her room is torture. Standing in front of Shadow Weaver’s office is torture. She’s been standing there for too long. She needs to go in, needs to knock on the door and get it over with. She needs to make up some lie about how she murdered Adora, and needs to make it stick.

“Welcome back, Catra.” 

The sudden noise scares the hell out of her. She turns around quickly, but her legs cause her to stumble and almost fall to the ground. She can’t imagine what she must look like. Shadow Weaver watches with a disapproving glare, and that’s only pushed further by the tone of her voice. She sounds displeased. Angry, even. Catra would be lying if she said she wasn’t at least a little scared. 

“Come into my office. We need to discuss 24A.” 

With a nod, Catra follows her into the room and sits in the usual uncomfortable seat. 

Shadow Weaver’s chair is basically a throne. It laughs at her as she sits. 

There’s a tension-filled silence as Shadow Weaver rests her elbows on the table and clasps her hands together. She stares at Catra as if she’s waiting for her to speak first, but Catra doesn’t know if she can. She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know if she should admit her failure, either. 

“You’re back late,” Shadow Weaver finally says. 

“Melog had difficulty navigating in the storm,” she replies a little too quickly. 

Shadow Weaver raises one thin eyebrow. “He’s never had that problem before.” 

“Well, he’s a dragon, not an automated machine, so--” She cuts her sentence short, realizing her mistake, and suddenly all she can feel is the deepening, threatening stare of Shadow Weaver burning into her skin. 

“Do not speak to me like that, Catra.” Her words are booming. “I’m not a fool, and you will not treat me like one.” 

“Sorry, Shadow Weaver.” The words sting on her tongue. 

She’s not sorry. She’d say so much more if she could. 

“What happened with 24A?” 

Catra hesitates. If she tells the truth, she’ll be punished. She doesn’t know how, but she does know it won’t be pretty. But if she lies, she’ll be rewarded. Unless Shadow Weaver finds out, of course, which she will. And then she’ll be punished more. It’s giving her a headache. She could say she finished the job, but then what if Shadow Weaver somehow figures it all out? Then Catra would be the one dead, not Adora. 

“I killed her.” 

Shadow Weaver’s expression doesn’t shift, nor does her tone. “You did?” 

“Yes,” Catra confirms. “She’s dead.” 

There’s another unbearable moment of silence. Shadow Weaver is practically boring holes into Catra’s bones by now with the way she’s staring, and all Catra wants to do is go to bed and sleep any painful memory away. She threatens to speak. 

“Is there a problem?” The words come out sincere, but she wishes they weren’t. 

“You’re lying to me.” 

“What?” 

“You’re lying to me,” Shadow Weaver repeats. She stands from her seat, and Catra feels her heart drop. “I cannot believe someone like _you _has the nerve to lie to me. You’re really going to sit there and tell me you killed 24A, when it’s obvious you didn’t? You’re pathetic.”__

____

____

Suddenly, Catra is just as angry. “Why don’t you just call her by her name?” says Catra, her voice venomous. “Adora. You sent me to kill _Adora, _not 24A.”__

____

____

Shadow Weaver narrows her stare. “Yes, I did. And I thought you’d have the guts to go through with it, but it’s obvious you’re no better than the new hires.” She steps closer, but Catra can’t move. She feels her cold hand cup her cheek in the disgustingly motherly way she always does when she’s trying to keep Catra on her side. Yet Catra only wants to cut her hand off. “I thought you were better than this, Catra. I believed in you.” 

The words sting. Catra pulls her face away. “I had to go. I couldn’t do it in time because she woke up her stupid friends.” It’s a poor excuse. And they both know it. 

“That’s never stopped you before,” says Shadow Weaver. “You’ve killed plenty of people in scenarios like that.” 

“And this one happened to be different,” she protests. 

“It was no different. Stop making excuses.” 

Catra bites her tongue. Shadow Weaver sits back down. 

And then she sighs, and begins to write ineligible sentences on a piece of paper. Sentences that can’t possibly be good. “If you weren’t able to do this, I’m sure one of the other hires will. I’ll send one of them to finish your job.” 

The words make Catra’s body ache and her stomach squirm. For a moment, she feels panicked. Panicked that she failed. But more importantly, panicked that somebody else will be sinking their knife into Adora’s skin, not her. At least, that’s what she tells herself. That’s what she believes. 

“Wait, no!” Catra blurts. 

Shadow Weaver looks up. The eye contact feels like poison. 

“I can do it,” she insists. “I just...needed a warning. I can do it. I can kill her myself.” 

Shadow Weaver doesn’t put down her pen. 

“I was in shock,” Catra continues. “I didn’t expect it to be her. But I can do it. I want to do it. I just need time. Please.” 

The pen clicks as Shadow Weaver sets it down on her desk. “And how can I ensure that you will?” 

Catra doesn’t like the way she said that. “I’ll accept whatever punishment you see fit if I fail.” 

Shadow Weaver clasps her hands together again, a normally bad sign turning into a good omen in Catra’s case. Silence. “Very well.” 

Catra feels her body relax. 

"I’ll give you the time you need. But she _must _be taken care of.”__

____

____

“She will be.” 

“Good. Now get out of my sight.” 

And Catra does. She limps as fast as she can to the healing wing, and then later that day, to her bedroom. She ignores Scorpia when she comes to get her for dinner, and the only time she leaves her dorm is to feed Melog for the night. The rest of the day is spent mulling things over in the steam of the showers and underneath the blankets of her bed. And as darkness creeps over the Fright Zone, sleep follows. 

Catra doesn’t dream. 


	2. it will come back

# it will come back

********

###  ADORA 

The knife is cold in her hands. 

She’s been staring at it for hours. It’s a beautiful knife, she must admit. Its golden handle is intricately carved, and in all honesty, extremely entertaining to run your fingers along. But its tip is sharp and deadly, and from what Adora, Glimmer, and Bow could guess, it was meant for her.

The thought makes her go still every time. She was going to die. Somebody was trying to kill her. If she’d been even a second too late, she wouldn’t be here now. And Glimmer and Bow would find her bloody, lifeless body. And Swiftwind would never know what happened. And--

She stops herself there before she loses control. She can’t lose control. 

The kind warmth of the early morning peeks through the open window, bathing her undoubtedly messy room in bright light. She hasn’t slept since the intruder, and she feels sick when she thinks about touching the glass they had jumped from. How they survived that fall without breaking anything, Adora still can’t figure out. Bow had called it impressive. Glimmer had scolded him immediately. 

But Bow and Glimmer aren’t here now to make jokes and try to lighten the mood. They’re downstairs making breakfast, and Adora is still trapped in her room in shock. It’s eerie how a place you once considered the safest space in the world could become a threat within so little time. She even feels anxious at the thought of going back to bed again. What are the odds that the assassin will come back? 

_Assassin _. It sounds ridiculous. But it’s her only explanation.__

__Adora hasn’t done many things in her life to make people mad, and the things she has done were done years ago. Almost four years ago, to be exact. And not once has anybody tried to kill her for it. She feels nauseous at the buried memories. With a frown, she pushes them back down. She won’t allow more than one thing to ruin her already stressful day. With timid hands, she hides the knife in her nightstand. She doesn’t want to look at it anymore._ _

__As Adora gets ready for the day, she can’t shake the feeling that she’s being watched. It’s nothing but her mind playing tricks on her, but it stresses her out to the point where she has to redo her hair at least five times and trips while putting on her socks. She’s stumbling around her room and tripping on her weights and for a second she catches herself wishing she hadn’t woken up at all. It’s solely from the embarrassment of her own dazed state. She can only hope that she feels better after the meeting._ _

__But she knows it's a far fetched hope._ _

__They were only invited last week, specifically a week after every other dragon trainer in Brightmoon found sealed letters on their doorsteps. Adora’s had gotten lost in the mail, Bow’s had gotten destroyed by some kind of gutter creature (they’d found the remnants a few days after Adora’s invitation, and the pieces had looked like mush in Bow’s palms), and Glimmer? She flat out hadn’t received one, and it was all because her mother didn’t want her there.__

 _ _It wasn’t out of malice, of course. Angella worried for her daughter and didn’t want to risk losing her in any aspect. But Glimmer took it personally, and Adora didn’t blame her. She would have been just as frustrated. Adora and Bow hadn’t heard the end of it for days._ _

__With half-lidded eyes, Adora walks over to her desk and digs through her piles of papers. She tries not to read the smudged writing on them. It’ll only stress her out even more. Finally, her fingers graze against a familiar wax seal, and she pulls out the purple envelope she was looking for. With a deep breath, she scans it over again as if there was something crucial she could have possibly missed. But the words are all the same, down to the punctuation._ _

Dragons are going missing on Etheria, and, more importantly, dragons are dying. 

____A couple dragons dying here and there is normal. A couple going missing is normal. It’s not odd for them to die from old age, get in an accident, or decide they want to take off to another country. But the Grayskull Stables’ Dragonology division has been monitoring them closely, and this is anything but normal. The dead dragons have been found all over Etheria, and more importantly, near the Whispering Woods. A forbidden section of forest that nobody has dared enter in years, because to do so would mean death within a week. If whatever creatures lingered in there didn’t get you, your loss of sanity would. The thought of it sends a chill down Adora’s spine--she loves an adrenaline rush, but she has no idea what would await her if she stepped foot in those woods._ _ _ _

____And neither did the dragons, apparently._ _ _ _

____It’s sad. Really sad. Adora has been around dragons her whole life. When she was younger, she was taught they were heartless machines, nothing but things for you to use. It didn’t matter if they lived or died because they were replaceable. She cringes at the memory. She’d rather not think about it.____

 _ _ _Although she knows now that none of it was true, that everything she was taught was a lie, it still hurts to reminisce. Again, she shuts herself down. She knows that if she thinks about that for too long, her mind will drift to other, more painful memories. So Adora sets the letter down, and instead of continuing to wallow in her room, she joins Glimmer and Bow for breakfast._ _ _

____Today, the cottage’s kitchen smells like cinnamon and flowers. One part thanks to Glimmer’s scarily good (and extremely improved) baking skills, and the other to Bow’s gardening kick. She breathes in deep as she walks in. Safe. She’s safe._ _ _ _

____When she enters, Glimmer is bent over her tray of cinnamon rolls, focusing intently on piping her icing. Bow watches over her shoulder with his tongue stuck out in concentration and eyebrows raised. “A little to the left.”_ _ _ _

____“I’m trying, Bow!” Glimmer hisses. She blows a tuft of pink hair out of her face in frustration. “Stop hovering, you’re freaking me out.”_ _ _ _

____He submits with raised hands and falls back into a seat._ _ _ _

____“What’s going on here?” Adora asks. She's standing in the doorway like an awkward child who's late to her classes, and the moment she realizes it, she eases into the room. Thankfully, neither of them point it out._ _ _ _

____“Trying to pipe smiley faces." Glimmer doesn’t look up from where she works. "But the icing is too runny.”_ _ _ _

____“It’s only too runny if you think it’s too runny,” says Bow._ _ _ _

____“Okay, well, that’s just not true,” Glimmer scoffs. Their bickering is playful. Even with the twinge of annoyance in Glimmer’s voice, Adora can tell she’s enjoying the back-and-forth. “Whatever, I give up. Normal cinnamon rolls, it is.”_ _ _ _

____Adora throws herself into one of the chairs at the countertop. She’s only just now realizing how hungry she actually is. She’s been so stressed she’s forgetting to eat on her own. If it weren’t for Glimmer’s stress cooking and baking, she probably wouldn’t remember to eat at all. “Cinnamon rolls are cinnamon rolls. Bring ‘em on.”_ _ _ _

____And as usual, they’re absolutely delicious._ _ _ _

____When Glimmer had first taken on the whole “chef idea,” Bow and Adora were very conflicted. She’d come home from the library with dozens of books on cooking, baking, and even mixing drinks. (She still hasn’t returned the books as far as Adora knows.) And her first meal had, frankly, been terrible. But she’d gotten the hang of it fast. She made some of her mom’s old recipes, reminiscing on good times as she did, and after a learning curve and a few months of almost burning the cottage down while making cakes and soups, Glimmer had actually made something so good that Bow begged her to make it again. Since then, she’s been the resident chef. And Adora would be lying if she says she isn’t thankful for it._ _ _ _

____They eat in silence for a while, with the occasional compliment to the chef in between bites. Adora grabs seconds, then Bow, and then Glimmer. It’s comfortable and casual and normal. Just the way Adora likes it.____

 _ _ _Until Bow says, “Are you doing alright?”_ _ _

____And suddenly it’s no longer normal._ _ _ _

____Adora stops mid-bite, and now she’s hyper aware of how sticky the food is against her fingers. She sets it down slowly and clears her throat. “Um, yeah. I guess?” She doesn’t mean for the words to come out in a question, but they do._ _ _ _

____Glimmer frowns. “Are you sure? ‘Cause I know I wouldn’t be.”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t think you’d be in my situation,” says Adora. “Nobody wants to kill you.”_ _ _ _

“I mean, that’s what I thought about you.” Glimmer sighs. “But apparently I was wrong. I mean, who would want to kill _you_ out of all people? You haven’t done anything.” 

___Bow’s eyes widen in excitement. “Unless you have some crazy side-job or secret life you’re not telling us about."_ _ _

___ _

______Adora looks back and forth between the two of them in a confused, awed stare. “No? I don’t. And if I did, you two would know.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______He puffs in disappointment._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I think we should lock up your windows,” Glimmer suggests, avoiding the prior topic. She looks Adora up and down with furrowed brows and scolding eyes. “Did you get any more sleep?”_ _ _ _ _ _

Adora shrugs, sheepish. “No. Couldn’t. Was too--” she hesitates, lingering on the word _scared_ “--anxious.” 

___ _ It's an understatement and they all know it. 

________Bow nudges her shoulder after a moment of silence. “You wanna have a sleepover?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“We...we live in the same house,” Adora says, deadpan._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I think he means, like, in the same room. Just so that you’re not alone,” Glimmer explains. The idea comforts Adora at least a little, and it’s evident in the way her shoulders relax. She’s never been good at sleeping alone, anyway. She only started sleeping in her own room a few years ago, and the adjustment was hard. Torture, even. She always slept with someone else in the room. _Someone else_. Her shoulders tense again. 

__________“Oh. Yeah, that’d be nice.” She speaks with a smile, but her voice doesn’t match the energy. “Thanks.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“And if the killer comes back,” Bow says, “we’ll get him! We can all gang up on him or something.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Totally.” Glimmer agrees. The eager smirk on her face is lit up by the glow of sparkles in her hand. Magic, to be specific. Magic that Adora’s always been pretty envious of, but she’d never tell anyone that. Regardless of any hero-envy, the action cheers her up. Just a little, but it’s enough._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Sleepover, it is,” says Adora._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________They spend the rest of their morning cleaning up the kitchen and finishing up the tray of cinnamon rolls. Bow does the dishes and refuses to let either of them help, Glimmer runs around the house doing whatever she can to keep herself busy in the time they have to kill, and Adora retreats to her room yet again. It’s growing colder even with the heat of the sun. Hesitantly, she closes her window. The handle feels foreign in her hands even though it's one she’s touched dozens of times. She clicks its lock shut, and at the sound she feels like she can breathe again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Time passes fast. So fast that Adora doesn’t even process that it’s been three hours until Glimmer practically breaks down the bedroom door to drag her out. She’s wearing a cloak that Adora hasn’t seen since college. Confused, Adora pulls her wrist out of Glimmer’s grasp._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“I didn’t know you were coming,” she says._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Neither does my mom,” Glimmer replies with a wink. She’s struggling to contain her hair in her hood. “But I _have _to, Adora. I can’t miss this. It’s too important, and if she has a problem with me being there, that’s her issue. I’m an adult. I can make my own choices.”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Adora doesn’t argue, and neither does Bow, who watches from the front door with his shoulders stuck in a shrug. The three lock up well before they leave. They don’t want anymore unwelcome guests._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The walk to the meeting is mainly one taken in silence. They aren’t the only ones headed to the square--dozens of other trainers young and old are filing out of their homes, urgency written all over their faces. Drying leaves litter the streets in the chill of fall, and their greens and purples turn to dust beneath the shoes of Brightmoon. For a while, Glimmer shares her cloak with Bow, who (regrettably) wore one of his crop tops today. It’s a tight squeeze and Adora can’t help but laugh at how stupid they look._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________But seriousness sinks in when they arrive in the square._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Glimmer shoves Bow out of her cloak and struggles to get her hair inside, Bow struggles with his shirt, and Adora? Adora tries not to let panic drive her absolutely crazy._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The square is packed with almost every dragon trainer on Etheria. They all congregate in their respective groups, talking among themselves in familiar conversation. There’s a large stage set up with a podium and chairs, presumably for officials considering how soldiers and head scientists occupy them. This includes Entrapta, a purple-haired genius who had abruptly switched over to the Fright Zone’s team after learning how much more experiments they did. A great loss for Grayskull, and honestly, a loss to Adora. She and Entrapta hadn’t talked much, sure, but she was entertaining and never dull. With her gone, anytime Adora attends a dragonology meeting, she’s met with monotone discussions and boring tables. Out of habit, she almost waves at her. Almost._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The amount of people here is overwhelming. She hadn’t even known this many people on Etheria were interested in dragons--there are people from Salineas, Plumeria, Mystacor, and...The Fright Zone. Adora loses her breath when she sees somebody donning the Horde logo on their shirt. She should have expected this after seeing Entrapta, but her brain only puts the pieces together after the fact. Her heart flips over in her chest, and for a moment, she catches herself scanning the crowd for a pair of familiar multicolored eyes. Adora can’t tell if she’s relieved or disappointed when she doesn’t find them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________She decides not to dwell on it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________But of course, that’s not her biggest problem. Her biggest problem is that the very people she was going to accuse of being the cause of these disappearances and killings are in the exact same square as her, attending the exact same meeting. All those drafts she wrote of what she was going to say seem pointless now, and she can’t help but feel frustrated. It was a far fetched idea to begin with, but she’d hoped Queen Angella would have at least given her the benefit of the doubt. And now she doesn’t see the point in even bringing it up, because she knows that once she does, all eyes will be on her. If she’s unlucky enough, so will targets. More targets than she already has._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Adora knows she’s right. She knows that if she was just given enough time and enough backup, she could prove it. She should know better than anybody how corrupt The Fright Zone is, not to mention their treatment of their dragons and their staff. Their so-called “family.” It’s all bullshit. She finds herself looking for the woman who made her life hell for eighteen years. To her relief, and with absolutely zero disappointment this time, she doesn’t see her, either._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Welcome, all of you.” Queen Angella's greeting distracts Adora from her search. She stands with clasped hands behind the podium, her long hair mirroring Glimmer’s. She speaks so calmly that Adora almost misses it. “Thank you all for attending today’s meeting. I’m sorry for any trouble with the mail--I was told some of you had...difficulties with your invitation.”____________

 _ _ _Adora glances over at Bow, who frowns in memory._ _ _

____________“I’m sure you all know why we’ve called this meeting,” she continues. “For a few months now, dragons have been dying and disappearing at a rapid rate. Our scientists here in Grayskull Stables’ Dragonology division have been tracking this intensely ever since it started, and it’s only getting worse.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________She pauses, allowing it all to sink in. There are some murmurs in the crowd, but nothing loud enough for Adora to pick up on._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“I know how high tensions have been in between kingdoms and competitors recently,” Angella continues. “Times are tough and I’m sure that your personal battles with one another are nothing but excusable. I would be lying if I said I had none of my own. However, I’m afraid you and I must set aside those battles for the time being, because if we don’t work together to solve this problem, I’m afraid our dragons won’t survive for much longer.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Those are the words that make the murmurs grow louder. There are some angry whispers beneath the volume of distressed trainers, and Adora wishes she could go momentarily deaf. Glimmer is tense beside her. She’s watching it all with a thin-lipped stare that’s trained towards her mother. If Angella has noticed Glimmer’s presence, she hasn’t said anything of it. But Glimmer has _definitely_ noticed hers. It’s not hatred, just a mother-daughter feud. But it’s one that Adora refuses to get in the middle of, so she focuses back on the problem at hand. 

______________“Our scientists have been looking into this ever since the problem arose,” says Angella. “And so have the scientists in every other kingdom, even the Fright Zone, whose trainers have graciously attended today’s meeting. Their head scientist, Entrapta, has offered to tell you more--”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Entrapta doesn’t hesitate to take the podium. With an excited grin, she practically bolts over, tripping on the cuffs of her overalls. She’s leaning into Angella’s side as she says, “Yes, I have!” 

______________Angella doesn’t say a word as she steps back, but does watch her with furrowed brows. Glimmer snorts beside Adora. She tries to stifle her laugh in the deafening silence of the crowd, and thankfully, her mother doesn’t notice._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“We’ve been keeping track of the data,” Entrapta says into the microphone. “Dragons are disappearing everywhere, obviously, but a lot of them are being found dead near the Whispering Woods. None of us know why they’re dying even after we run a bunch of tests. It’s fascinating!” She pauses. “But also bad. Really bad.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________A beat of silence._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Basically, we need to send people in there.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________And then that silence is gone._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

People aren’t happy, and it’s obvious in the way their brows raise and their voices shake. They’re all talking over one another and for a moment Adora wishes she’d just stayed home. Almost everybody who has ever stepped foot in the Whispering Woods hasn’t lived to tell the tale, and those that have are never the same. She’s heard the stories--creatures with too many eyes that stalk you in the trees, animals that are a little too tall when they walk on their hind legs, unclassified beings whose teeth are like blades and ones that have an absurd amount of limbs, and even plants that are anything but docile. It’s a dangerous place, especially if it’s the reason dragons are dying. 

_It’s not,_ Adora thinks. But if the Queen out of all people suggested this-- 

________________Maybe things are worse than they’ve been told._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“Everyone, calm down, please.” Angella has taken over the podium again, but it does nothing. Only when she raises her voice to repeat the line do they do what they’re told. She takes a moment to collect herself, breathing in deep. “Now, obviously this is dangerous. But I’ve held meeting after meeting, and it’s our only choice. This is entirely optional, of course. But we ask for as many volunteers as we can get. There’s no discrimination here--anyone from any kingdom or station, no matter what our status with one another is, can apply. All I ask is that we all work together to bring our dragons home. If you have questions, now is the time to ask them.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________This time, conversation is civilised. People raise their hands high in the crowd, and Angella answers as many of them as she can. There are some good questions--will there be more meetings, where do you sign up, what’s the plan, the usual stuff. But then there are some stupid ones, like, “Will I die?” or “What if I’m only twelve?”________________

___Angella responds to every comment and question like that with a tinge of annoyance in her voice, and Adora knows she won't be spared if she does the same. It's tempting, so tempting that she almost blurts her own statement. She's restless from anxiety. Angella is trying to get it across to some drunken trainer that bringing his dragons into the woods would defeat the entire purpose of the mission, but Adora can't focus on what she's saying. Her hand shoots up. She goes unnoticed for a while until the man finally shuts up._ _ _

___ _

___________________Angella points to her. “Yes?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________She clears her throat. All eyes are on her and suddenly she's so, so nervous. Her voice shifts lower out of panic. Her throat runs dry. “With all due respect, your majesty, is it the best idea to work with the Fright Zone?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________It’s stupid and reckless and could very well get her on someone’s hit list. Again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“We’re going to set aside our differences for this." Angella speaks in the same tone she'd used talking to the drunken man. It stings. “It’s crucial that we work with one another. If you have a problem with how we’re running things, feel free to take it up with me _after_ the meeting.” ___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

There’s a laugh in the crowd, and Adora can’t help but feel more embarrassed than she already was. Her cheeks flush as she awkwardly lowers her head. She’s mentally berating herself now, and she knows this is something she’ll lose sleep over for the next few weeks. She can't tell if the annoyance was directed towards her, or just remnants from the Queen's previous question. Her hand falls to her side as Angella begins answering other people, and she watches Glimmer apologetically shrug. 

But then the laugh processes a little too late--its tone, its rasp, its familiarity. The realization hits her like a bullet straight to the chest and nearly takes her breath away. 

_No._

Adora looks up, and she’s scanning the crowd yet again. 

Suddenly the embarrassment doesn’t matter. Suddenly it’s all background noise. And suddenly, she makes eye contact with the same eyes she failed to find earlier. 

____________________Adora freezes. Every memory is back, every emotion. Every word that left her lips in the past is suddenly lingering on the tip of her tongue and everything tastes sour. Her entire body is beginning to tense and she feels as if she's going to cry. The name is foreign in her mouth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________“Catra?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these chapters have been so poorly written i am SO sorry but i promise it's going to get better from here, especially when there's more action and less "exposition in the form of dialogue" 
> 
> if you haven't figured it out already, pov is going to alternate every chapter and updates are going to be VERY sporadic so u could get like five updates within two weeks and then none for another two weeks i have NO plan for this
> 
> anyway, thank you to everybody giving this fic a chance :) i rlly appreciate it <3


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